


Return of the Nogitsune

by Communicator



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-05 15:00:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3124469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Communicator/pseuds/Communicator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles goes to visit his grandmother in Poland with Derek to learn more about Polish Werewolf lore. However, Grandma Stilinski is more interested in dealing with the darkness hiding in Stiles' mind and heart. The Beacon Hills boys are going to need some new allies as well in handling Stiles even if one of them might have a fanboy crush on him, while the other simply wants to kill the kid. And while new messes pile up, Derek has to deal with new feelings for Stiles as the kid slowly descends into madness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tea with Grandma Stilinski and maybe a Demon Summoning because those two go hand-in-hand, apparently

 

Stiles’ stomach looped itself into new, bizarre knots with each knock he made on his Grandma’s door. And while his organs played this painful game of twister (his stomach and kidneys especially), he was busy thinking of a plan to get out of Poland, away from his Grandma. The list of reasons why started with the woman simply being his Grandma, and as mean as that sounded Stiles knew she’d rightfully earned the amount of fear he had for her. Maybe hatred too.

“Oh god, Stiles you reek of anxiety,” said Derek, wrinkling his nose like the stench of Stiles’ worries were literally stinging his nostrils to death.

“Sorry—sorry,” Stiles replied, sucking in and spitting out deep breaths, trying to settle his nerves. And although each breath helped to untangle the emotional mess happening inside his gut, it didn’t help Derek much at all. In fact the sour wolf had to back away a little from Stiles. If anything, Stiles’ breathing routine released more anxiety into the air and Derek couldn’t handle it anymore. He’d managed to get through the plane ride to Poland and the car drive without puking from the stench of ‘Stiles-being-on-edge’. But enough was enough, seriously.

“Okay, what exactly is the problem?” Derek asked, cupping his nose. Everything he said sounded like an angry muffle though.

“What’s the problem?” Stiles grumbled. He stopped knocking, dropped his fist to his side, and swung around to Derek. The kid was pale. And not his regular pale either or even his sickly-pale. Stiles was ‘approaching death pale.’ But Derek didn’t say anything about it.

“The problem is that we’re out here in the middle of freakin’ Bieszczady, Poland looking for information about Polish werewolves,” Stiles shouted. All his words these days came out as a yell or a grumble. His hands were flailing around too as if he was trying to swat the problems buzzing around his brain (or in his brain). “And now we end up here, at my crazy grandma’s house. That’s the problem.”

Derek rolled his eyes, making both of his bushy brows wiggle in annoyance at Stiles’ vague reply. “I still don’t understand,” said Derek, still guarding his nose. “She’s your grandmother, not some evil demon—.”

Derek froze when he said that and dropped his gaze.

Stiles did too. His eyes went dark, too dark like something had sucked out all the light from the boy. Then his hand reached for his neck, quivering as he sought out the spot where Deaton had injected him with Wolf Lichen. A precaution. The Fox was gone now, the Nogitsune had been sealed, but Deaton thought it would be wise to give one more injection just to make sure all of the demon fox was out of Stiles. And to everyone’s surprise, a lightening bolt-shaped scar had sprouted from his flesh and tore itself across Stiles’ neck and back upon that injection. The mark was still there too after a week and no one knew what it meant. And maybe nobody wanted to know. Stiles knew though. He remembered what Ms. Morell had told him at Eichen House. As the scar faded, so would his control over his own body. And the thought of that totally sucked for him as he remembered all the people the Nogitsune had killed. All the people that _he’d_ killed. Now the only question that remained wasn’t ‘when he’d lose control, but who would he kill this time once he lost control again.’ Because it was going to happen again, very soon.

“Don’t touch it, Stiles,” said Derek, grabbing Stiles’ hand before he could reach the scar, his little hourglass counting down the minutes until his madness returned. “It’s over. It’s gone. Okay?”

Derek held Stiles by both his shoulders now, leaving his nose completely unguarded to the stench of Stiles’ anxiety. He didn’t seem to care though. He was waiting for Stiles to say something. Even if it was something idiotic. Stiles simply nodded and managed a timid grin. His eyes still dark, darker than the forest around them swimming in mist. But he knew his war for control over his body wasn’t over. Something had slipped into the cracks of his mind like a rat or a spider. He felt it as he slept, an itch in his brain that he couldn’t reach and each night this invader would slowly devour his consciousness. Would tear apart his soul or spirit or whatever it was that made Stiles, Stiles. And as bad as that sounded, it was worse knowing that each piece of himself that he lost would be replaced with pieces of someone else or more precisely something else. Blacking out was starting to become a common thing for him too. So he knew whatever battle he was fighting wasn’t going in his favor.

“Stiles?” Derek called to him and Stiles managed to toss his pondering mind back to reality, for now.

Back to Derek.

“Dude, I’m fine,” said Stiles, brushing off Derek’s hands and turning away from the sour wolf. He knocked on his grandmother’s door again because what else could Stiles do after seeing Derek look at him like he’s sick. Like he might need to be ‘put down.’ Stiles already knew his mind was slipping. That he was slipping or more precisely sinking into darkness again. So he didn’t need Derek’s puppy-dog-worry-gaze to remind him of that, seriously.

Grandma’s door opened, releasing a nasty creak that clearly sounded like a warning to ‘back off’ or ‘go back to America where creepy mist doesn’t ooze out of the earth and consume everything within reach.’ And Stiles was ready to respect that warning. He slowly stepped back from the house without paying attention to where he was going. So of course he bumped into something that wasn’t planning on moving. Or fleeing. He looked above to see Derek looking down at him.

“Going somewhere, Stiles?” Derek asked, grinning. But before Stiles could answer, the sour wolf had scooped up the boy and sent him plunging into the darkness of his grandma’s house.

“You have no idea, who you’re about to meet,” Stiles said within the pitch-black hallway or what he assumed was a hallway. The darkness here was suffocating. “Just don’t listen to her, okay Derek?”

“Right, whatever you say, Stiles.” Stiles could feel Derek guiding him through the house with his huge hands anchored to his shoulders. Stiles knew he wasn’t just doing that to keep him from bumping into walls. He needed somebody to keep him grounded or he’d run out of that house for sure.

“I mean it,” Stiles said. “She’s crazy and—.”

“Who’s crazy, Stiles?”

A cold touch dove into Stiles’ chest and gripped his lungs, making breathing impossible. And Stiles knew it had to be the owner of that scratchy voice that made him want to jump out of his ‘approaching death pale skin.’

“Not going to answer your own Grandmother, Stiles?” asked the scratchy voice. “You really have lost all respect since living in that cesspool you call a country.”

A soft glow burned away the shadows clogging up the hallway. A red-flamed candle seemed to hover in the darkness. As it approached the boys, they finally saw a skinny pale hand attached to the candle. A woman wearing a scarf over her head and an apron owned the hand and she smiled, a wide snake-like smile that only Stiles could pull off.

“Well she’s definitely your Grandmother,” Derek whispered into Stiles’ ear, which made Stiles’ heart pound harder against his ribs. “What’s wrong? Your heart is racing. You that scared of your grandmother?”

“Oh I don’t think that’s me making his heart race, Derek,” said the old woman, her smile spreading wider, devouring her whole face (if that was even possible).

Stiles made a hideous frowny-face at the woman and cursed under his breath. Derek could only catch the words, ‘Shit, I trusted you Grandma.’

“Come now boys,” said the scratchy voice. The red flame shrunk as it sunk into the shadows again. Derek had to shove Stiles, who had rooted his feet firmly onto the carpet.

“You’ll get through this,” he whispered into Stiles’ ear again and again Stiles wondered how long it would be before his racing heart would finally rip its way out of his rib cage. Jeez, he wished Derek would stop doing that, the whispering with his gruff voice that was so deep, so sultry he could make a girl pregnant just listening to him. Derek even got so close to Stiles that the anxiety-ridden boy could feel the sour wolf’s beard brush against his ear. It was softer than Stiles thought it would be. Not that Stiles ever imagined touching Derek’s beard or anything.

“Look at you, pale and flimsy as a snowflake,” said the scratchy voice as Stiles stepped into some real light. The kitchen, a modest space of stone, wood, and iron, had managed to let several rays of soft light illuminate it. “What do you think?”

“Brighter than I remember it,” Stiles said, his head lowered to floor.

Derek stepped out from behind Stiles and finally made clear eye contact with the owner of the house, Grandma Stilinski. The old woman looked like any other old lady he’d see strolling around Beacon Hills on a Sunday afternoon. Not even her scent seemed sinister. Her warm smell of spices (maybe from baking) filled the whole house.

“So this is your diabolical Grandma, huh?” said Derek, raising a bushy brow at Stiles. The anxiety-ridden teen kept his head lowered as he nodded at Derek.

“Diabolical,” said the old woman as she went to the stove and rummaged through her cabinets. “Well I prefer to be called Grandma Stilinski or Celina. But I suppose Diabolical Celina does have a nice ring to it. What do you think, Stiles?”

Stiles simply nodded and hummed to the floor. So Derek had to nudge him just so he would raise his head. But he refused to give eye contact to the old woman.

“Just ask her what you want to know Derek so we can go,” Stiles mumbled to the sour wolf.

“I already know why you’re here,” said Grandma Stilinski as she poured tea into three cups. “You’re here about the Polish werewolves and also about that demon haunting you. Am I right Stiles?”

“Demon?” Derek and Stiles said in unison, and Grandma Stilinski couldn’t help giggling at the couple. She approached Stiles so quickly it seemed as if she’d teleported. Then caught him by his black hoodie. She dragged him (literally dragged him) to another room, an empty one built entirely of grey brick. Dozens of red circles with scribbles decorated the ceiling, floors, all the walls too.

“So whose blood did you spill to make those,” Stiles asked. “Little kids? Or maybe from one of your animal sacrifices?”

“Well aren’t you still in good humor, my demon-possessed grandson,” Grandma Stilinski struck back and it was a fatal blow to Stiles. The kid couldn’t manage a witty comment or a reply of any sort. “I used paint and a ladder by the way. This is the 21st century you know. Besides I’m too old to be chasing little kids around.”

“Um—but what are those for,” Derek asked, keeping his feet planted in the kitchen. “I’ve never seen runes like those before.”

“Well, we’re going to summon a demon in this Red Room here,” Grandma Stilinski replied, wearing her snake grin. “Then tea of course.”

“What’re you talking about?” Stiles slapped the old woman’s hand away and backed up to Derek. “I’m not—I’m not possessed. I’m fine. I’m better.”

Grandma Stilinski completely lost her smile and patience. “You seriously can’t feel that creature’s presence inside of you? Trying to take over your mind and body?”

Stiles curled his lips, chewing on them, practically eating his mouth off his face.

“Is that true, Stiles,” Derek asked, his voice weaker than usual. Like he’d been injured. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

And Stiles finally lost it. He couldn’t be in that house anymore. He couldn’t be near _her_ anymore. That witch, his grandma. So he bolted. Not for the kitchen. Derek had blocked the entrance. He sprinted into the Red Room, hoping he could find another way out through the back door.

“No, don’t go into that room yet!” his grandma shrieked.

Too late.

Stiles had already stepped into the Red Room, right on top of one of his grandma’s weird circles. He dropped to his knees, his body shaking, convulsing violently as if he was suffering from a horrible seizure. His breathing was out of control, heavy breaths one moment then no breaths at all another moment. Red sparks bounced around the room as all the circles and their strange scribbles burned a vibrant glow. A crimson glow. Streams of scarlet lightning danced around the room as Stiles writhed in agony, screaming and crying while his whole body intercepted one bolt after another. He was the perfect lighting rod for this supernatural storm.

“Stiles!” Derek cried.

“Don’t go in there,” Grandma Stilinski shouted, holding her arm in front of the wolf. “It’s begun. Wait for it. This won’t kill him.”

“Derek…please…help,” Stiles groaned, his arms holding himself together as if he feared his body would crumble or shatter. “I can’t—I can’t—.”

Then the room went dark. The crimson glow, the sparks, the lightning, everything died, retuning the room to its grey, silent state. Even Stiles had stopped moving, crying, screaming. He just sat there. A small lump of darkness amongst shadows. His face aimed away from his grandma and Derek. So they couldn’t tell if he was dead, sleeping or anything for that matter.

“Stiles?” Derek tried to push past Grandma Stilinski, but the old woman dropped black dust onto the ground between her and Derek. An invisible force pushed him into the kitchen. He couldn’t break through it as long as the dust lay there.

“Mountain ash?” Derek growled.

“This is for your own good,” said the old woman. “It’s bad enough my grandson stepped into this room before I had the chance to finish preparations. Who knows what supernatural nonsense you’ll summon if you walk in.”

“What’re you planning to do with him,” Derek snarled, baring his wolf fangs at her. She gave him an amused chuckle.

“I’m going to see who—no, what we’re dealing with,” she replied as she walked into the Red Room. “Don’t worry. I can handle this myself.”

Grandma Stilinski stopped a few feet away from Stiles’ body. She held her hand over her nose, as if a powerful stench threatened to chop it off if she didn’t protect herself.

“This smell,” she hissed. “Who are you? Reveal yourself!”

Stiles’ fingers tapped danced against the floor, piano fingers playing a melody that only Stiles could hear. He chuckled, a light child-like giggle, and that small chuckle grew into a cackle that made the room quake a little. The whole house was frightened.

“Stiles, is that you?” Derek called.

“Yes,” Stiles said softly, calmly. “And no.”

Stiles rose, slowly and Grandma Stilinski took a few steps back.

“Where are you going Granny?” Stiles asked, still facing away from her. “You called us out here to play. So here we are, ready to play a new game.”

“This vile presence—!” Grandma Stilinski reached into her apron, but before she could pull anything out a hand gripped her throat and shoved her into a wall.

“Stiles!” Derek cried. “Stop it! Stiles!”

Stiles smiled a smile wider than any human could, wider than a snake’s smile. And it grew as he tightened his grip around his grandma’s neck. In the darkness of the Red Room his smile glowed like a crescent moon. His eyes had fully succumbed to the darkness plaguing him earlier. Grandma Stilinski couldn’t even see her trembling reflection in those two pools of black shaped into the form of her grandson’s eyes.

“Let’s play a game,” Stiles said with a soft snicker. “Let’s find out how long an old witch can go without oxygen. This game might leave you breathless.”


	2. Some Tea at last after a near Death Experience because what else do you drink after nearly dying?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Nogitsune has taken over Stiles and Grandma Stilinski and Derek face off against the evil spirit once again. Can they stop him without killing him though?

Grandma Stilinski snickered as her possessed grandson tightened his grip around her neck, on the verge of breaking it. Even Stiles seemed a bit confused by the woman’s behavior. His own laughter faded as he listened to her strangled cackle, a victorious cackle that suggested that Stiles had stepped right into the palm of her hand. Like she’d taken control of whatever game they were playing.

Derek, on the other hand, wasn’t laughing, but growling softly because he could smell it, the blood lust oozing out of Stiles like a fountain of death. It was a stench that couldn’t belong to Stiles. It shouldn’t belong to him. But the scent was so strong that Stiles might as well be bathing in his grandma’s blood already. So Derek couldn’t figure out what was so amusing to the old woman about approaching death at the hand of her own grandson, his friend. In fact, watching this whole scene play out, watching Stiles drain the life out of his own kin knotted up his stomach. He had to look away. He just had to. This was too much even for him.

“Something funny, Granny?” Stiles asked, his smile slipping a little, dropping into a scowl. Even though he was effortlessly wringing the hag’s neck as if she was a helpless chicken, an uneasiness crept up inside him. Made him the tiniest bit nervous.

“Oh, nothing really,” she croaked, without loosing her grin. “Only that you’re a thousand years too young to be challenging me in my own home, little fox.”

Grandma Stilinski pulled her hand from her apron at last, holding up a green mossy plant between her and her grandson. It radiated a powerful stench only a wolf or a fox could recognize. Stiles winced at her, his nose burning red at the stink.

“Wolf Lichen,” he grumbled, loosening his grip on the old woman. “Clever hag.”

“Aren’t I though?” Grandma Stiliniski said proudly as she slapped Stiles’ hand off her neck, and he allowed her. He didn’t resist. The possessed teen backed away from her, still smiling his wide snake smile as if nothing had changed. As if he was the one who was truly in control of their game.

Because he was.

“So what now, Granny?” Stiles asked, his voice oozing arrogance. “Are we going to just stand here all day, admiring each other? Or did you have something in mind? Hopefully nothing boring.”

“Nogitsune,” Derek hissed, his fangs bared and his eyes shimmering their wolf gleam. He’d even sprouted claws. Of course all of this was for show. Even if the Mountain Ash wasn’t separating him from Stiles, he wouldn’t dare tear apart the possessed teen. The thought of even drawing a speck of blood from Stiles’ delicate flesh made him queasy. Repulsed him. But what else could he do in this situation? He needed to show that he wasn’t beaten or scared for Stiles. That he’d fight for Stiles’ freedom.

“Nogitsune?” Stiles said with a hint of curiosity tingeing his words as if he was asking a question. “Not quite. Not anymore.” The possessed teen shook his head at the sour wolf, and both Derek and Grandma Stilinski raised their brows, curious about the spirit’s meaning. “Most of my essence was sealed in that wooden jar you trapped me in. The Nemeton.”

“So you were sealed,” said Grandma Stilinski as she stuffed her Wolf Lichen back into her apron. “A thousand-year-old spirit beaten by a bunch of kids. Ha!”

Stiles nodded, flaring his nostrils at the old woman’s humor and resembling a bull about to go on a rampage. But he didn’t. He released a calm, controlled breath that chilled the air around him. Another grin spread across his pale cheeks as he approached a wall. He tap-danced his fingers along a red rune, moving them to the beat of some sinister melody happening in his head. But his fingers froze after a moment, after the possessed teen sniffed the air. He licked his lips at the scent, tasting whatever smell had filled the atmosphere. Stiles swung around, his black pools for eyes found Derek. And when Derek saw those eyes, a glint sparkled in the possessed teen’s pupils, as if Stiles’ light was trying to return. As if Stiles was trying to bring himself back. And maybe, just maybe Stiles needed a little help from somebody who believed in him. Somebody who knew he was still in there fighting for his mind and body.

“Stiles?” Derek called, his voice weak again, almost like a plea or a whine. “Are you there?”

Stiles sauntered over to Derek. His steps quiet and smooth, almost as if he was gliding over to the wolf. Then he stopped, close enough for his nose to almost graze the Mountain Ash Barrier. Close enough for his nose to almost touch Derek. Stiles sniffed the wolf, then chuckled, then sniffed him again. Another giggle.

“You reek,” Stiles huffed and shook his head. “I can smell it all over you.”

“What?” Derek growled, inching closer to the Mountain Ash barrier. Closer to Stiles. “What do I reek of?”

Stiles cocked his head to the side in disbelief that Derek hadn’t noticed. That Derek couldn’t even smell his own, anxious feelings fogging up the space between them. Friendship—or maybe something else, something more intimate plagued Derek’s fog of feelings and the sour wolf couldn’t detect any of this, apparently. Or maybe he just wasn’t ready to own up to all his crazy emotions colliding with each other in that small airspace.

“You really care about him, don’t you?” Stiles asked, smiling an amused smile while stealing another whiff of Derek and licking his lips. Derek’s emotional agony was delicious after all. A delicacy.

The sour wolf straightened his spine at the question, speechless. He backed off from the possessed teen. His bushy brows joined at his forehead, forming a single furious brow as he glared at the spirit before him. Powerless to do anything, but watch the monster ride around in Stile’s ‘near death pale skin’.

“And you all really thought you saved him too, didn’t you?” Stiles continued. He shook his head, frowning a mocking frown. “Poor little Stiles.”

“Shut up,” Derek hissed.

“Poor little weak Stiles,” the possessed teen taunted.

“I said shut up,” Derek cried.

“If you care about him so much, if any of you really care about him, then you should realize something,” Stiles warned. “Something very important. Are you listening, sour wolf?”

And Derek practically lost it right there because only Stiles, the real Stiles ever called him that. Could ever call him that. Nobody else.

“Meaning?” Grandma Stilinski asked, her hand shuffling around her apron again. Ready to snatch up the Wolf Lichen again.

Stiles didn’t bother turning to the old woman. In fact he stepped closer to Derek. Too close, actually. Now his face smashed against the Mountain Ash Barrier, slowly singing Stiles’ nose and cheeks to a tan crisp. And the demon didn’t even care. He let his host body burn and cackled as his flesh threatened to melt right off his face.

“Stop it,” Derek howled and the possessed teen did. He backed off.

“So then you should realize by now,” Stiles repeated. “None of you have a right to stop me. Stiles is mine. Forever.”

And that was the last straw for Derek. The wolf inside him finally escaped, completely taking over him, and he let it too. Derek let his anger surge and transform him fully, giving him longer, sharper nails and fangs. Wolf fur sprouted and coated him, making him monstrous. Derek pounded on the Mountain Ash Barrier now, burning his hands and howling a beastly howl that made the house suffer another quake. Stiles’ arrogant snicker joined the beastly melody tearing apart the house.

“I will plunge this world into chaos, once again, Derek,” Stiles chuckled. All of his words coming out as a sinister cackle. “And I’ll make sure Stiles gets to taste your blood before you meet your end.”

“Never!” Grandma Stilinski screamed, her cry ringing so loud it drowned out Derek’s howl. Stiles finally shifted his gaze onto the old woman, witnessing _her_ transformation. No—her rebirth. Her grey hair unraveled itself and tore off the scarf that had kept it bound. And each strand was wailing and screeching as though they were snakes on Medusa’s head. Red bled all over her hair too, erasing any signs that she’d ever been a grey-headed hag. Even the old woman’s flesh was undergoing a supernatural change. Her withered skin peeled off her body just like a snake shedding its own flesh. And fresh skin emerged too, molding the old lady into a young woman armed with searing-golden-eyes and a nasty disapproving frown.

“Martel,” Stiles said. “The Red-headed demon appears at last.”

“Nogitsune,” the raging woman screamed, her hand crackling with flames. “Your miserable existence ends here!”

And then she leapt or flew. It was too hard to tell with the speed she approached Stiles. The possessed teen didn’t flinch either. He waited for the woman, for Martel to slap her palm across his chest. The fire emanating from her hand consumed Stiles, bathing him in gold and crimson flames.

“Stop it,” Derek shouted, breaking his fists against the Mountain Ash. “You’re killing him!”

And she was killing him, roasting him alive without any care. Her teeth grit and her scorching eyes released a furious glow, a vile hatred. This was exactly what Stiles wanted too. He embraced the torture as the woman’s hand sunk into him, reaching for his heart. So it wouldn’t be much longer now. Soon Stiles would be a pile of ash on the ground for Derek to sweep up.

“Enough Martel,” somebody cried, even though there wasn’t a body to own the voice. “You know this isn’t the way. You can’t do this!”

And Martel obeyed. She sucked her teeth as she removed her burning fingers from Stiles’ chest. The possessed teen shut his eyes and fell. Dropped backwards, but Derek wouldn’t allow that. He hurled himself at the Mountain Ash Barrier and the shield shattered easily, as if someone or something had weakened it for him.

“Stiles,” he cried as he slid over the floor, on his knees. Derek caught Stiles between his legs, letting him lay against his chest, while he snored softly and made kissy face noises as he slept. “Seriously Stiles?” Derek laughed and the tension that had knotted up his gut evaporated, carried off with the laughter

“Well, that was a bit much,” said a scratchy voice.

Derek looked to where the redheaded woman stood, where she should have been standing at least. Grandma Stilinski was there now, tying her grey hair back into a bun to store neatly beneath her scarf again.

“Now then, how about some tea,” she said cheerily.


	3. Sipping Tea with a Communicator, the light of Stiles’ Life, literally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the ordeal in the Red Room, Grandma Stilinski explains who Martel is and introduces a new ally to the Beacon Hills boys who will help them defeat the the Nogitsune.

Derek’s nose stung worse than before his arrival at Grandma Stilinski’s house and it was all Stiles’ fault too. Anxious Stiles stunk like trash that hadn’t been taken out after a few days. But furious Stiles reeked beyond anything Derek had ever smelled. This stench made his eyes water and Derek still couldn’t figure out why his wolf senses were so in tune with Stiles’ emotions. When did that even become a thing for him? Seriously?

“Here, sniff this,” Grandma Stilinski handed Derek a leaf oozing a strong scent of spices. “It’ll relieve some of the swelling. Your nose is redder than Rudolf. Big as an apple too.”

And it was. So Derek obeyed the old woman. A single sniff of the leaf made his nose less sore and Stiles’ fury was finally bearable. Thankfully he wasn’t in the room to enjoy any of this. Stiles loved these rare moments when Derek was vulnerable to embarrassment.

“You really do care about my grandson,” said the old woman with a toothy grin and a cackle. Derek simply nodded at her.

“Yeah, he’s a good friend,” he said, taking another whiff of the leaf. “We’ve been through a lot together.”

“Good friend?” said the old woman. She sighed at Derek and he stared at her, waiting for the lady to speak her mind because he knew that ‘Stilinski sigh’ anywhere. She definitely had more to say to him. “Your wolf is more in tune with your real feelings than you are, boy.”

Derek opened his mouth, but he couldn’t spit out a word. Then his eyes and nose went to the red room. Stiles stepped out of the room and entered the kitchen and Derek’s nose could tell he was still pissed off.

“What the hell woman?!” Stiles whined, holding a bag of ice to his charred nose. “You—you tried to kill me, didn’t you?”

“Oh, you’re fine,” hissed the old woman as she poured tea and sat cups on the table. “You’re still alive aren’t you? That’s more than what most people get in this world. So, stop complaining already.”

Stiles’ mouth dropped open at his grandmother’s lack of sympathy, wide enough to fit a plate in his mouth. He raised his arms at her, displaying several holes that had been burned into his shirt. Even his pants had suffered a similar fate. In fact Derek could see the kid’s moose-printed underwear, not that he was thinking about Stiles’ underwear or whatever was in his underwear.

“Quit being a baby,” Grandma Stilinski said as she handed the boy more clothes without holes. “Your body is mostly healed thanks to the Nogitsune. Plus you were barely on fire.”

“Barely on fire?” Stiles yelled, waving his arms around like he was trying to put out more flames. “Are you listening to yourself? Seriously?”

The old woman sucked her teeth and rolled her gray eyes.

Derek on the other hand grumbled at the memory of Stiles-almost-going-up-in-flames-literally. Even though all of his menacing wolf hair had vanished and his eyes dull again, his fangs refused to fully retract. His claws too. So Derek was still quite lethal. And all of this was probably a precaution in case that ‘red-headed demon’ returned for the Nogitsune, for Stiles. Derek wasn’t going to let that happen though. He’d almost lost Stiles, forever. Death and Stiles was a bad combination, a hideous one that repulsed Derek.

“Hey, you okay over there, sour wolf?” Stiles asked, seeing the claws and fangs on Derek. “You seem more sour than usual. Which I didn’t think was possible.”

“Shut up,” Derek said, crossing his eyes. He pouted at the window to hide a grin though. And Stiles smiled too. Probably without even realizing it. Smiling was second nature to Stiles, the real-happy-go-lucky version of Stiles. So seeing him grinning was a good sign.

“Anyways, you owe me an explanation for almost killing me,” Stiles said, aiming an accusing finger at his grandma.

Grandma Stilinski simply spat a heavy breath at the boy. She grabbed his accusing finger and squeezed it, hard. He cried and she cackled. Even Derek chuckled a little.

“Actually, I wasn’t the one trying to kill you,” corrected Grandma Stilinski as she released her whimpering grandson’s finger. “That was Martel, my—.”

“Your demon-thing!” Stiles snapped then winced. He shifted the bag of ice from his nose to his cheek. “Jeez, that still hurts. Why didn’t anybody stop me from almost melting off my face?”

“Maybe because we thought you’d lose your lips,” Derek said, chuckling some more.

“And you—you!” Stiles waved his accusing finger at the sour wolf now, mouth hung open at ‘You’. “Stop enjoying this. Stop it right now.”

“Hey, I didn’t stop you from enjoying your nap on my lap, did I?” Derek struck back and Stiles’ cheeks ballooned and blushed.

“Shut up,” he muttered because what else could be say? His red cheeks made his feelings obvious to everyone, to the world. He had enjoyed that nap very much and he couldn’t exactly lie about it. Sour wolf would definitely pick up on that with his wolfy senses.

“Well, you two make a cute couple,” Grandma Stilinski snickered as she sipped her tea.

Derek flexed his eyebrows at her, looking confused. And Stiles died, or at least he felt like he had inside. His organs felt as though they were sinking in acid at this point and he was grateful that Derek wasn’t looking at him while his insides slowly dissolved into nothingness.

“Shit, I trusted you Grandma,” he muttered and Derek looked at him finally. So by now Stiles’ whole body felt as if it was actually on fire. His organs were gone too.

“Alright—alright, that’s enough flirting,” said Grandma Stilinski as she took a seat at the kitchen table. “We need to discuss some things before we worry about Polish werewolves or anything of the sort.”

“Yeah, like the almost-killing-your-grandson-thing,” said Stiles as he sat as far from the woman as he could. Derek sat between them, silent and watching Grandma Stilinski. She glared at her tea and for once she was frowning. She gripped her cup so tight her boney hands quivered. They only stopped when Derek sat his hand on her wrist, when he drew away the pain she was feeling. And he couldn’t understand what this pain was, this cold touch. She finally lifted her eyes to the wolf.

“Start from the beginning,” Derek asked, gently. “Who is Martel?”

Grandma Stilinski’s frown deepened when she answered, “A sage.” Stiles and Derek raised their eyebrows at her. “A sage is a spirit that takes human form in order to bring balance to the world,” she continued.

“A sage?” Stiles grumbled and crossed his eyes. “More like a monster.”

“Stiles!” Derek hushed the grumpy teen, who bit his lips together and gave him a big eye roll. Derek returned the gesture then shifted his attention back to the old woman. “Please, continue,” he said.

Grandma Stilinski breathed a heavy breath and began again. “Like I was saying, a sage is a being that seeks to bring order to the natural world. Most people think they are demons though. And sometimes they do become foul creatures when they lose their way.”

“And what about Martel?” Derek said, still touching her wrist. The cold touch hadn’t faded and her pain seemed to grow worse, almost unbearable. “What kind of sage was she?”

“She was—she was lost at one point,” Grandma Stilinski said, her eyes sinking to the kitchen table. Tears sat at the edge of them, threatening to slide down her cheeks. “But I helped her. I helped her find her way a long time ago.”

And Derek knew she was telling the truth and something else too. A warmth kindled the old woman’s hands now, the cold touch gone. This warmth infected Derek, making his own heart quicken. He could feel it, the old woman’s emotions. When she spoke of Martel he sensed her strong feelings for the sage.

Stiles folded his arms and pouted out the window, because he couldn’t stand looking at the woman as she spoke. “Whatever, this stupid,” he muttered. “Martel or whoever, she’s just another evil spirit and you let her possess you for power.”

“You’re wrong,” his grandma replied, her voice broken, injured. Tears finally fell down her cheeks, raining onto the table. “It’s true that I allowed her to possess me. But it was to protect you and your father. I did it to protect the family.”

“What?” Derek gasped.

“Stop lying!” Stiles shouted, slamming his hands on the table and throwing his accusing finger at the woman once again. “You’re lying.” And the grouchy teen jumped away from the table and stormed for the exit. Derek tried to grab Stiles, but the kid brushed him off and he was almost out the door.

“Oh man, things are getting very heated it seems,” said a cheery voice. It came from the entrance. Someone had stepped into the house, blocking Stiles’ exit out.

“And who are you supposed to be,” Stiles asked, seeing this new guest wander into the house.

But the stranger didn’t reply. He stood there grinning like a kid on a sugar high. In fact this guy seemed like a kid, almost fifteen maybe. But that wasn’t really the weird part about this stranger. This dark-skinned kid had silver mossy hair and glacial eyes that glowed in the shadows of the hallway.

“I can’t believe it,” the silver-haired kid chuckled. “I can’t believe I finally get to meet you. Stiles Stilinksi!”

Stiles’ mouth agape and eyes circular, he frowned and shook his head at this weird stranger. “Um excuse me, but do I know you?”

“Right—right, I should introduce myself,” the stranger said, giggling. “Conor, I’m Conor the Communicator.”

And before Stiles could even ask what any of that meant to him, this silver-haired kid calling himself Conor, grabbed him by his arm and towed him into the kitchen again. The silver-haired kid was way stronger than he looked too. Stiles couldn’t stop him from dragging him back to the table.

“Who are you?” Derek asked, now standing and growling a little at the stranger. He recognized the kid’s scent, but his behavior only made the kid’s glacial eyes shimmer more with excitement like he was meeting a celebrity.

“Relax,” said Grandma Stilinski, sitting her hand on Derek’s wrist. Her touch, warm and soft now, calmed Derek. His fangs and claws shrunk to their human proportions. He even stopped growling without meaning to.

Derek glanced at the old woman, realizing what she’d done, “Did you just—

“You wolves are not the only ones who can relieve someone of troublesome feelings,” she said. “You don’t need to be so tense around this one. He will be a great ally in your battle against the Nogitsune. You’ll definitely want to take him with you.”

Derek sniffed the air again and wrinkled his nose at the scent. “You do smell like her, like Martel,” he said, folding his broad arms as if to intimidate the kid. “So you’re a sage, too?”

Conor tilted his head in agreement to Derek and Stiles ripped his arm away and pressed himself up against a wall.

“Oh, please don’t panic, Mr. Stilinski,” said Conor, wearing the cheeriest smile he could muster. “I’m not going to attack you, promise. I’m very different from my sister.”

“Your—your sister?” Stiles said, freaking out even more. “That monster was your sister?”

Conor nodded to Stiles, confirming the teen’s suspicions. “She can be a bit—um—zealous about her duties, but she means well, promise.”

“Right, zealous,” Stiles said, breathing an agitated sigh. His eyes had darkened again and that darkness also sat under his eyes, making his whole face seem sinister. Conor stopped smiling, but kept his gaze on Stiles, studying him. And then he was sulking at the teen. Like he’d finally realized that this wasn’t the time to be grinning or excited. Even Derek could sense the somber mood of the room without his wolf. And then he too was glaring at Stiles and noticing the darkness haunting the kid. Like a shadow had fallen over him, slowly drowning him. The Nogitsune really was still a threat. They hadn’t won against the dark spirit, just delayed its chaos. Darkness still lived on inside of Stiles. But what did this silver-haired kid have to do with anything? How was he going to help?

“Because I’m the light of Stiles’ life,” Conor said as though he’d read Derek’s thoughts. And both Stiles and Derek were wide-eyed with shock over these words and their meaning.

“Um—excuse me?” Stiles stammered. “You’re my what?”

Grandma Stilinski snorted at the gawking pair and replied, “He means he’s supposed to make sure the darkness inside you doesn’t consume you, Stiles.”

“That’s right,” cheered Conor, now grinning again. “Did I not say that correctly?”

“Um—well you did,” Stiles said, still stammering at this kid. “Just in a weird way.”

“Very weird,” Derek grumbled.

“Oh, so sorry,” Conor said with a deep bow, his nose almost touching the ground. “I will—um—I will work on being less weird then?”

“Um—sure buddy,” Stiles said as he pried himself off of the kitchen wall. “You don’t have to bow though. It’s not that serious.”

Connor raised his head to Stiles, but his eyes remained aimed at the floor. He’d completely lost his smile as well. “I am sorry for my sister’s behavior,” he said again. “And it’s not your grandmother’s fault either. My sister can appear whenever she likes. Mrs. Stilinski didn’t summon her to harm you. I promise.”

“Yeah sure,” Stiles said to the kitchen window because there was no one in that room he wanted to look at. Derek was on his shit list too for bringing him here to his Grandmother’s house for stupid polish werewolves. The sour wolf could smell that too, Stiles’ anger aimed at him. In fact a ton of unpleasant emotions leaked out of Stiles like a fountain and that made Derek stare at the floor because who else could he look at right now?

“You shouldn’t be so hard on everyone,” said a voice that shouldn’t be in the room. And everyone turned to Grandma Stilinski only to be greeted by that red-headed young woman. “My brother was the one who called out to stop me. You’d be ash right now if it weren’t for him.”

“So that voice was you,” Derek said and Connor nodded.

“You—you again,” Stiles jumped back and Derek was already at his side, standing in front of him, guarding him.

“Martel,” said the red-headed woman.

“What?” snapped Stiles.

“That’s my name,” she said, spinning a finger in the air and creating a small fiery hoop with the gesture. “I would think you’d know my name better than anyone else, Nogitsune.”

Stiles grabbed his head and groaned. His knees crashed to the ground. He was crying loudly. So much so it hurt Derek’s ears, made his wolf crazy too.

“Stiles’ what’s wrong?” Derek asked.

“I—I don’t know,” Stiles shouted. “It’s something. Something’s coming.”

“I’ll deal with it,” said Martel, her hand already set aflame.

“No—I will,” said Connor. The silver-haired boy sat his hand on Stiles’ shoulder. Silver light radiated from his palm, resembling a miniature star, and this light spread all over Stiles, bathing him. The teen stopped groaning and his hands rested on the floor. Whatever had haunted him seemed to flee like shadows do when light fills a room.

Derek held Stiles’ arm and lifted him. And as he got the teen back onto his feet, Derek winced from the pain, Stiles’ pain. It was worse than his grandmother’s. In fact, Grandma Stilinski’s pain gushed out of her like a river. Stiles’ pain was a raging sea.

“Stiles are you alright?” Derek asked even though he knew the answer to his own stupid question.

“I’m fine,” Stiles said, pulling away from Derek ( _always pulling away from Derek_ ). “I’m okay. I—I can handle it.”

“But you’re in pain,” said Derek. “How bad is it? How long have you been feeling this way?”

Stiles didn’t reply. Perhaps because he knew his answer wouldn’t please Derek.

“You Stilinskis are magnets for pain,” said Martel, who was sipping Grandma Stilinski’s tea. “Perhaps that is the fate of your family. To constantly swim in the world’s agony. Though you bring it upon yourselves by toying with things you do not understand—.”

“Enough Martel,” snapped Connor. “Don’t talk to him like that!” So his sister silently sipped her tea, while glaring at Stiles.

“What the hell is happening to me?” Stiles gasped, hunched over and breathing hard.

A panic attack was imminent. Derek could sense that and he didn’t care if Stiles hated him or didn’t want help. He grabbed the teen, scooped him up in his arms.

“Wha—Derek what are you doing?” Stiles gasped.

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek said as he headed out of the room. “You need to rest. You look like you’re about to—about to—.”

“What?” Stiles said weakly. Breathing was impossible now and not because of the incoming panic attack either. Derek didn’t reply. He just stared at Stiles, which made the teen’s breathing problem worse. The darkness that had invaded the teen wasn’t showing itself on his face anymore. He could see the brown in his irises again. He could see Stiles again. Not the Nogitsune or the anger or anxiousness that had been plaguing him for so long. He was holding Stiles in his arms. The real Stiles.

“So um—are you gonna keep staring at me all day sour wolf,” Stiles wondered, his face red. “Cuz this is sort of weird and everything. And we have an audience.”

“You should take him to the bedroom upstairs,” said Connor who was grinning so much he seemed as if his was going to burst. “Let him rest there for a bit.”

Derek nodded at Connor. “Thanks,” he said. “For whatever it was you did for him.”

Connor bowed again. “It’s not a problem. Plus I told you before. I’m the light that’s going to keep out the darkness.”

Derek and Stiles glanced at each other and then raised their eyebrows again at the silver haired kid.

“I guess that still sounds sort of weird,” Connor chuckled. “I’ll keep working on that. And Mr. Stilinski, please have a good rest.”

Stiles waved his arms in protest, but Derek was already heading up the stairs. When they arrived in the room, Derek sat Stiles on a small bed and covered him with sheets. Stiles had stopped resisting at this point, maybe because he was too tired to fight or argue. His body had fully surrendered to exhaustion and Derek’s pushiness.

“Stay here,” Derek said. “Rest, okay?”

Stiles nodded, his eyes shut tight. So Derek tiptoed out of the room, his wolf eyes glued on Stiles because he kept worrying that something would take him away forever. Then he left.

“Derek?” Stiles said softly, not expecting the sour wolf to hear him.

“Yeah?” Derek ducked his head back into the room. He blushed a little, realizing how fast he’d responded to Stiles’ call. He had been halfway down the stairs when his wolf ears caught the teen’s voice.

“Thanks,” Stiles whispered, twisting under the covers. “Thanks for everything.”

Derek didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say. So he left, his steps creaking down the stairwell. And his heart pounding louder than the whining stairs.

“Yeah, no problem Stiles,” he said to himself once he reached the last step. Then he slapped his hand to his forehead and wondered why he didn’t say that instead of nothing. What was wrong with him?


End file.
